. . .

"Wherever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not believe
that I do not want it.  Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist."

The Old Poets of China
By Mary Oliver

today we will stay home listening to the rain, baking rosemary crackers with onion, lighting candles; in our own way creeping into the pale mist.